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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25981465">The Worth of a Life</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/peaceloveandjocularity/pseuds/peaceloveandjocularity'>peaceloveandjocularity</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>MASH (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:28:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,962</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25981465</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/peaceloveandjocularity/pseuds/peaceloveandjocularity</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawkeye steps in front of a bullet for Charles. Charles has to worry about whether or not Hawk will survive.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce &amp; Charles Emerson Winchester III, Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce/Charles Emerson Winchester III</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Worth of a Life</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Charles was frozen in place as shots rang around him. <i>Move! Come on, Charles. You’re going to get yourself killed! <b>Move!</b> </i></p><p>“Charles!” A voice called out to him just as a body slammed into his. </p><p>A shot. Charles could hear the bullet ricochet somewhere.</p><p>Charles’s head rattled as it bounced off the ground. His head was throbbing. Another shot rang out. Charles tried to push up. A weight was pushed on his chest. He felt… wet? A helicopter sounded overhead, dirt flying up over him, settling on him. Charles coughed, the dirt choking him. His chest— he couldn’t breathe. </p><p>He looked down— black and gray, the green of army pants. Someone was laying on him? </p><p>“Get off me,” Charles moaned. “I have to get up.” </p><p>Rapid gunfire shot over the crest of the hill. </p><p>“Get off me,” he said, a little louder, his head throbbing. He groaned. The sun was starting to hurt his eyes. He looked back down and caught a glimpse of blue and white. Shirt. Pierce? “Pierce, get off.” </p><p>There was no movement. </p><p>There was the faint noise of people milling about as the helicopter flew back overhead. More dust clogged his nose and mouth and Charles gagged on it. An ambulance screeched across the compound, narrowly missing him, kicking more dust into his face. </p><p>“Pierce, we have to get up. We have to— there’s wounded.” Charles reached down and struggled to push Hawkeye off him. “Hawkeye, get up.” </p><p>“Charles!” Someone was calling his name. They sounded so far away. </p><p>“I’m here!” he called, his pulse beating in his skull. “I’m here.” He tried to push Hawkeye off him but he hardly moved. Someone was running towards them, Charles could feel the pounding of their feet in his skull. “Get him off me,” he groaned. A litter was laid on the ground— what? why?— and Hawkeye was rolled off Charles. Charles groaned again as he stood up. His body swayed and he grabbed his head. His hands were shaking, clenched against his ears. Everything was so loud. He looked down at Pierce. “Oh god.” </p><p>Hawkeye’s shirt was black in front, the flowers blooming red. Charles shuffled to his knees beside the corpsmen, his fingers shaking as they wrestled with the buttons. </p><p>“Doc, maybe you should go scrub up,” the kid said gently. </p><p>Charles just stared at him, his brows furrowed. “Pardon?” </p><p>“Scrub up— for surgery?” The corpsman— oh it was Igor. Igor looked at the other corpsman—Charles didn’t know him— and then back to Charles. “You okay, Major? You didn’t get hit did you?” </p><p>“Hit?” </p><p>Igor nodded at the other corpsman and they each grabbed one end of the litter. “Come on Major,” Igor coaxed. “Follow me. Come on, sir. We’re heading to the hospital.” </p><p>Charles nodded and held fast to the side of the litter. His head was aching as they walked. He looked down at Hawkeye as they walked and he stumbled over— his own feet? a rock? he wasn’t sure.</p><p>Igor walked backward, keeping an eye on Charles as they walked, only looking away long enough to look where he was going. “Almost there, Major.” Igor backed the litter into pre-op and laid Hawk on one of the surfaces there. “Wait here, sir. I’m going to go find the colonel for you.” </p><p>Charles picked at the buttons on Hawk’s shirt and pulled the fabric back, his jaw clenching as he looked at the blood plastered on Hawkeye’s chest. He scowled. Hawkeye had— he’d… thrown himself in front of Charles. That should be Charles laying on the litter. </p><p>Charles pushed back and stumbled to the scrub room. He pulled his shirt off— Hawkeye’s blood staining it— and threw it to the ground, his undershirt following. He choked off a groan as he pulled the white scrub top over his head and settled it into place. He looked at his pants, staring at the blood on them before pulling them off and adding them to the pile, pulling clean white pants on. He pushed his weight against the sink as he scrubbed his arms. He had to be clean, sterile. He had to do his best. He was going to save Hawkeye, the way Hawkeye had saved him. </p><p>A nurse was behind him, already staring at his face as he turned around. “I want Hawkeye on my table <i>now</i>,” he said. </p><p>“Uh… okay Major,” she said, walking backwards through the curtain. </p><p>Colonel Potter joined him at the sinks. “Major,” he said, his voice soft, yet strong. “You need to sit down. You’re bleeding.” </p><p>“I’m— no, it’s Pierce’s blood.” </p><p>Potter reached up and touched the back of Charles’s head and Charles winced. “Rang your bell pretty good,” he said. “You’re gonna need that sewn up.” </p><p>“I have to start working on Pierce,” Charles said. “The blood will clot.” </p><p>Potter nodded, rinsing his hand off in the sink. “Maybe. But Pierce has been black tagged.” </p><p>Charles fought the urge to drop to his knees. “No,” he breathed. “No. I’m going to bring him back. I have to.” </p><p>“Winchester—” </p><p>“I need a gown. Please, sir. Please let me try.” </p><p>Potter sighed and rubbed at his face. “Winchester, there are boys out there we’ve got a better chance of saving.” </p><p>“He saved me,” Charles said, his voice cracking. His breathing hitched and he was trying not to cry. </p><p>“You get one chance. If he stops breathing or his heart stops at any point I need your promise that you’ll call time and move on.” </p><p>“I can’t—” </p><p>“You have to. Gown up and get out there,” Colonel Potter said, turning on the sink to scrub up. </p><p>Charles eased his arm into the gown a nurse provided to him and worked to turn off his emotions. He couldn’t be emotional going into this. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth to try and calm himself as he watched Pierce be brought through the OR and laid on his table. Gloves were eased on his hands and he was standing stock still in front of Hawkeye. </p><p>“Vitals are weak, Major,” the anesthesiologist murmured. </p><p>“We have to try,” Charles said. “<i>I</i> have to try.” He took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders back and leaned in. “Scalpel.” </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>_____</p>
</div><p>After the first patient was taken off his table— Charles couldn’t afford to think of him as Hawkeye— there was another one immediately in his place. There were so many boys. A whispered count of wounded was given each time another boy died. Sixteen hours later, as the last boy was being carried from the OR, the count was three. Charles hoped everyone in post-op made it through the night. </p><p>He pulled off his scrub shirt, the fabric sticking to his side. He winced as he looked down at his side— it seemed the bullet had grazed him after all. He’d be fine. The blood would clot again. His cap had blood in it from the back of his head— that had clotted on its own as well. He pulled on a clean shirt as his dirty one fell to the floor. Charles dropped onto the bench exhausted.</p><p>His head hurt. His head was pulsing, the light burning his eyes. The room seemed to be spinning around him. He closed his eyes and covered his face with a towel, slouching back against the wall. He was so tired. </p><p>Charles was hardly aware of anything when he was shaken awake, the towel pulled from his face. </p><p>“You feeling okay? Let me check you out,” BJ said, standing in place to block the light from Charles’s eyes. </p><p>“How’s Pierce?” Charles asked. It was hard to focus on Hunnicutt, his eyesight was blurry.</p><p>BJ watched Charles carefully. “He’s not awake, and his vitals are weak but sustained. How are you doing? I’m not sure Colonel Potter and I could’ve handled that deluge alone but you’re not looking so good either.” He grabbed a penlight from his pocket and shone it across Charles’s eyes. They dilated asymmetrically. Charles narrowed his eyes at the light. “You’ve got a pretty good concussion.” </p><p>Charles nodded slowly. It made sense. His head throbbed with the slightest movements, he’d found it hard to focus, he… couldn’t remember much of what had happened beyond knowing that Pierce was hurt. And he himself was hurt. “How’s Pierce? What happened?” </p><p>BJ frowned and sighed, he pulled off his cap and mask and tossed them at the laundry basket. A pile of bloody clothes caught his eye. “Charles are those yours?” </p><p>“Mhmm,” Charles hummed. </p><p>BJ picked the cap up and frowned at the amount of blood on it. “Hey Charles, can you look down for me?” </p><p>Charles looked down and BJ grimaced as the back of Charles’s head came into view. Blood was caked and crusted in his hair, a trail leading down to where the collar of his other shirt must’ve been stained red; not to mention the gown he’d been wearing. How had no one been worried about him? </p><p>“You’re gonna want to wash some of that blood from your hair. Think you can handle a shower on your own?” </p><p>Charles thought for a moment. “No,” he said. “It’ll be quite alright for the night. I’ll shower in the morning.” </p><p>BJ nodded and set his hand on Charles’s shoulder. “Do you want to go check on your patients or do you want me to?” </p><p>“I’d like to check on Pierce,” Charles said, stumbling to his feet. He truly couldn’t remember much and that fact was pulsing in the front of his mind while pain was pulsing in the back. His feet caught on each other and he fell forward into BJ’s chest. “My apologies,” he said as BJ righted him. </p><p>“Charles, how’d you stick through sixteen hours standing up? You’re not well.” </p><p>“I had to,” he said, like it was really that simple. “I had to.” </p><p>“Alright, Charles. Let’s go see Hawk.” BJ stood close to Charles as they walked. Charles was thinking about the pulsing in his head. BJ was fixated on the pile of bloody clothes. They were no stranger to blood staining through the layers, to heading back to the Swamp in whites stained brown. This was different. The blood was brighter on the shirt and in a different place than it had been on the gown, at least to BJ’s memory. </p><p>They pushed through the doors to post-op and Hawk was in the bed nearest the duty desk. He was pale, very pale. BJ’s heart clenched as he watched Hawk. He was hooked up to a blood bottle, slowly dripping into his arm. BJ pulled the duty desk chair over next to Hawk and helped Charles sit in it before handing him the clipboard. </p><p>Charles squinted at the papers. The longer time went on, the harder it was for him to focus. His eyes felt like they were pulsing. “You read,” he said, handing the clipboard back to BJ. </p><p>BJ grabbed the clipboard and skimmed through the nurses’ notes. “He hasn’t woken up at all,” BJ said, his voice thick with tears. “His vitals are stronger though. His temp is low and he’s been hooked up to this bottle for a bit.” BJ grabbed the bottle and turned it towards him. “Almost empty.” </p><p>Charles was slumped in the chair when BJ looked back down at him, his eyes closed and his breathing slowed. BJ smiled sadly and grabbed a spare blanket from the pile in the corner and tucked it over Charles. </p><p>“Lacey?” BJ called. “Can you wake Charles up in a couple hours? He’s got a bad concussion— you know the drill.” He pulled up a stool on the other side of Hawk and slumped down, closing his eyes. “See you in a few hours Lacey.” </p><p>“Sleep well, Doctor.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Follow me on tumblr! </p><p>@welcometokorea</p><p>@peaceloveandjocularity</p><p>@requiemforalightweight</p></blockquote></div></div>
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